The Sheriff's Son
a bullet from the gun of the cattleman. He was presently to learn that the forty-four had been struck and knocked from the hand of its owner.
"Every little thing all right, son?" asked the cowman cheerily. "We sure did run this rescue business fine. Another minute and— But what's the use of worrying? Miss Beulah and I were Johnny-on-the-spot all right."
Roy said nothing. He could not speak. His lips and cheeks were still bloodless. By the narrowest margin in the world he had escaped.
Disgustedly the cattleman looked down at Meldrum, who was trying to curse and weep from pain at the same time.
"Stung you up some, did I? Hm! You ought to be singing hymns because I did n't let you have it in the haid, which I'd most certainly have done if you had harmed my friend. Get up, you bully, and stop cursing. There's a lady here, and you ain't damaged, anyhow."
The eyes of Beaudry met those of Beulah. It seemed to him that her lip curled contemptuously. She had been witness of his degradation, had seen him show the white feather. A pulse of shame beat in his throat.
"W-w-what are you doing here?" he asked wretchedly.
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